


Behind the scenes

by chaos_monkey



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical subject matter, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3, Pining, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-04-24 05:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: A companion fic to When everything falls into place - a collection of drabbles and shorts, either set during actual episodes or inspired by them. (i.e. What I think is going on inside the minds of our favourite OT3 members and/or what happens that we didn't get to see on camera... )Evidently there will be spoilers to some degree or other for the episodes in question.





	1. The Christmas Haunting (S16:E01)

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended to do these in chronological order, but then I ended up writing a later one first and I don't want to wait, soooo I'll just put them up in whatever order I get them written as I re-watch episodes ;) Might eventually try and re-order the chapters.
> 
> Also, most chapters will of course have scenes and dialogue that are not my creations, but are taken directly from the show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually set after the episode, just after the end of Ch 16 in When everything falls into place. While Ben is staying with John and Sarah on his week off.

“So… DS Nelson seems nice,” Ben said. “Very… keen.”

John shrugged. “He’s all right, I suppose.”

Sarah chuckled. “John’s still sulking because he’s not you, Ben,” she said, and Ben felt himself blush, a quiet warmth spreading through him that was somehow both wistful and pleased all at once.

There was a companionable silence.

“Hey, how come you never let _me_ keep the beard?” Ben asked.

John didn’t answer.

“Remember?” he pressed. “After my undercover training, there was that whole mess with the wacko cultists over at the foundation… You _actually_ made me shave in the _car._ ”

Ben suddenly realized John was blushing, and Sarah burst out laughing.

“...What?” he asked, looking between the two of them.

John was staring resolutely at nothing, the flush spreading further down his neck.

“He thought you looked too good with it,” Sarah finally said, giggling. Ben stared at her. Sarah never _giggled._ “Apparently you were _far_ too distracting.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ben really was _unfairly_ distracting in that Oblong Foundation episode)


	2. Murder of Innocence (S15:E02)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned out a wee bit longer than I expected! ... oops ;p

Grady Felton. The man had _some_ nerve, Ben thought, popping the boot of his car to chuck in the rolled up ‘threat’ Felton had complained about. 

And then hurriedly closed it again, not looking at Barnaby and hoping he wouldn’t think anything of the overnight bag that was already in there. Ben had completely forgotten it was there, to take to Susie’s tonight; and, well, he wasn’t sure _exactly_ why he didn’t want Barnaby to know about her yet, he just… didn’t. 

And anyway, he and Susie had both agreed to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being. Firefighters and coppers were apparently equally as fond of the rumour mill, and neither of them felt much like being the talk of their respective stations just yet.

“About the chief constable’s fitness test,” Barnaby was saying casually as he headed around to the passenger door. “Um, I was thinking we could get together, do a bit of training.”

“I’m not bothering with the training,” Ben said as he unlocked the doors, relieved that Barnaby wasn’t questioning him about the bag.

“Aren’t you?”

“Nah, I’m fit enough to pass now,” Ben opened the driver’s side door, but Barnaby kept going before he could get in.

“Well, as a… favour, to a friend. Otherwise I’m stuck with Sarah and her bloke.”

Ben looked up at him sharply. Sarah’s _bloke?_ What did _that_ mean -

“Y’know, from the gym,” Barnaby said, a plaintive note to his voice. “She’s training for the school charity run.”

Ben started shaking his head before his DCI even finished speaking. 

“I can’t,” he said quickly, nearly cutting Barnaby off. “I’m busy all week.”

Ben got into the car without another word, hoping Barnaby would just drop it. Maybe the bloody bag would have been a better conversation topic after all. 

The DCI finally joined him as he started up the car, looking a little nonplussed but thankfully not pressing it any further. Ben felt a pang of guilt at brushing him off like that without any kind of real explanation, but between his and Susie’s equally hectic and unpredictable schedules, they had enough trouble finding time together as it was. 

He _would_ tell Barnaby about her, Ben promised himself as he pulled onto the road. Soon. 

Once he didn’t have this whole Grady Felton mess hanging over his head.

 

* * *

 

Kate was just finishing up for the day while her assistant wiped down the last examining table, when the door opened and Ben Jones walked in again.

“Oh!” she said, mildly surprised that he was back here so soon. And without Barnaby, this time. “Are we going for that drink you’re always promising me?”

Ben didn’t return her smile or respond to the teasing, his expression serious, distracted. “Um… I, uh, I just wanted to check Harrison’s TOD.” 

So, not here for a drink then. Pity. Ben _did_ occasionally say he owed her a drink for one thing or another, but Kate could never quite tell with him what was actual interest and what was just friendly banter. 

Ah well. His loss.

“Six-thirty to ten-thirty,” she told him, closing her laptop. “Hasn’t changed.” 

“Any chance you could’ve been wrong about the timing?” Ben asked, his brow furrowing.

“No. That’s why we get a window, earliest to latest,” Kate said, smirking a little. Of course she wasn’t wrong about the timing. “You know how it works.”

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah, course,” Ben said, trailing off and looking down, obviously thinking about something and none too happy about whatever it was.

After a short pause, he turned and left again without a word. Kate let out a small huff, half laughter and half indignation. 

“Uh… night, Ben!” she called after him, a little put out at being summarily ignored without so much as a goodbye. 

“Yeah,” came the already-distant answer from down the hallway. 

Kate exchanged a mildly incredulous glance with her assistant, who just shrugged and went back to wiping down the blood-smeared table. 

“Right,” she said with another small huff of laughter, grabbing her keys and bag to head home. 

Detectives. They were just plain odd, the lot of them. 

 

* * *

 

The smell of smoke was heavy on the air as John watched the paramedics carry an unmoving Grady Felton past him on a stretcher.

“He’s in a coma, sir,” Jones reported. “He wasn’t breathing when they found him.”

“What does the fire team think?”

“By-the-book arson,” Jones replied as they headed towards the cottage together. “Someone poured fuel through the letterbox and lit it.”

John sighed but didn’t answer. 

“Excuse me,” he called to the nearest firefighter as they approached the burnt old building. “Is it okay to go inside?”

“Yes, but - you’ll need to put these on, sir,” she answered, picking up a pair of bright yellow hardhats and handing one to each of them.

“Thank you,” John said; then paused as he noticed the name tag on the firefighter’s uniform. S. Bellingham. 

Well _that_ was interesting. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that was the same name as the occupant of the house he’d seen his sergeant disappear into yesterday afternoon with that blue bag of his in hand. It must be getting serious. She was certainly quite pretty; reminded him of Sarah, in fact, under the sooty smudges. 

“Officer Bellingham,” John added politely, then headed into the cottage, putting his sergeant’s romantic life firmly out of his mind for the moment. 

Hardhats in place, he and Jones picked their way through the debris, flashlights playing over the dripping, burned interior.

“Apparently this door was closed when they came in,” Jones said. “It stopped the fire but not the smoke.”

John nodded absentmindedly as he looked around, considering. Revenge? A scare tactic gone wrong, perhaps?

“What are you thinking?” Jones finally asked.

“That we should never have let this happen,” John replied.

The sergeant looked a little taken aback. “Well, there’s nothing more _we_ could’ve done, sir.”

“I hope you’re right about that,” John said, heading past him towards the exit. 

And he did hope Jones was right, he really did. He just wasn’t so sure of it himself.

 

* * *

 

Ben followed his DCI back out of the burnt-out cottage. Susie had gone from the front of the house, so they returned their hardhats to another one of the firefighters, trying not to get in the way of the general bustle and packing up that was going on now that the fire was out and Felton had been taken away in an ambulance.

“So how long have you been seeing the lovely Officer Bellingham?” Barnaby asked conversationally as they headed back to their cars.

Ben stopped dead in his tracks, staring at his boss as the words sunk in. “How did _you_ know?”

Barnaby turned back to him; then leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m a detective, Jones.”

“Been a few months,” Ben finally said, feeling incredibly awkward. Looked like he was going to be telling Barnaby now whether he wanted to or not, damn the man. “I met her when she transferred in the summer.”

“Going well?” Barnaby asked.

Ben really, really didn’t want to be having this conversation; really didn’t want to think about why telling John - Barnaby - about his relationship with Susie was making his stomach squirm. 

“I… moved a few things in this week, so… yeah.” 

Barnaby nodded, and they just stood there for a moment. “Trying to keep it quiet?”

“It’s early days, I didn’t want anyone to know about it yet,” Ben said quickly. Which was true, after all.

“Fair enough,” Barnaby said, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“You won’t say anything, will you?” Ben asked, nervous.

“No, no. Course not.”

Ben nodded gratefully. “Cheers,” he said quietly, still a little ill at ease. He didn’t know why Barnaby cared who he was seeing, but he should have known the DCI would figure it out. Ben should have just _told_ him. They were friends. There’d been no real reason _not_ to tell him.

Ben’s guilty train of thought was interrupted as Barnaby continued. “Though, of course… one good turn -”

 _Oh._ So _that’s_ where this was going. 

Ben didn’t even let him finish. “I’m getting all the exercise I need,” he said firmly, but Barnaby was already wearing one of those too-innocent looks of his. 

“But _I_ need a credible alternative to Gareth’s torture-in-the-park sessions.” Ben opened his mouth to object but nothing came out. “And you’re it,” Barnaby added with a smirk, turning and heading towards the road.

Ben just stood there for a minute, a little bewildered and pretty certain he’d just been successfully blackmailed by his own DCI. 

He definitely was _not_ also wondering wistfully if there could be any other reason John was interested in his love life.

 

* * *

 

John gratefully dropped down onto the bench they’d left their backpacks on and Jones followed suit with a grunt, both of them puffing from the run.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t’ve done this with Sarah, or what’s-his-name,” Jones commented, panting.

John looked over at him, slightly incredulous. He’d thought it was obvious. “I can’t cope with all the _smiles_ and friendly encouragement.”

Jones glanced at him but didn’t say any more about it, getting up again to stretch his legs out. John knew he should really be doing the same, but… sitting was just a whole lot easier at the moment, and his thoughts turned back to their case instead. He was _missing_ something.

“So assuming for the moment that the fire wasn’t set by the Dennings or the Gideons, who else _is_ there?” John mused, only slightly distracted by Jones stretching next to him. It really was unfair how good he looked even in something as simple as a tracksuit.

“Almost anyone in Binwell,” Jones said, entirely unhelpfully, and John let out a mildly exasperated huff. 

“But who else cared enough about Daniel to _kill?_ Did he have a girlfriend?” 

Jones shook his head after a moment. “No one steady.”

“Anyone else in their gang?”

“Well, there was Fred Burns,” Jones said, looking up and bouncing lightly on one foot. “The guy I’ve got up in court later.”

“What’s he up for?” John asked, thoughtful.

“Intent to supply Class A’s. Way out of his comfort zone of five-quid dope deals to school kids,” Jones said, voice getting a little muffled as he bent down from the waist with his feet spread wide and his legs straight, hands sliding down to his shins. John looked away with some difficulty, trying and failing to _not_ think about what could be involved in standing behind Jones while he was bent over and panting like that.

“Doesn’t sound like the sort of mate Ted Denning would approve of for his children,” John said, and he could hear the strain in his own voice. Hopefully Jones would either not notice or just write it off as the exertion of the run. He took a deep breath to regain his focus. _Girlfriend. He has a girlfriend, John,_ he reminded himself firmly as his sergeant straightened up again.

“Well he was all right as a teenager,” Jones replied, sitting back down. “He just… fell in with the wrong crowd later in life.”

“Worth a visit,” John said. He finally pushed himself back to his feet again, his entire body protesting at the gross mistreatment it was being subjected to. This was cruel and unusual punishment, without a doubt.

“Yeah…” Jones said, looking up at him from the bench. “Best leave that one to you though, sir, until I’ve given evidence against him.”

Barnaby nodded, still trying to finish catching his breath, then picked up his backpack.

“Right.” Time to head back to the precinct to change and then go see what this Burns character had to say.

 

* * *

 

Waiting to be called in to the witness stand for the Burns case, Ben was going over his notes for the umpteenth time and muttering to himself to get some last-minute practice in, when footsteps approached behind him and someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder. 

He turned around with a smile, expecting to see Susie, but instead it was Sarah Barnaby standing there and smiling warmly back at him. 

Ben just stared at her for a second, tongue-tied, and almost succeeded at convincing himself that the emotion lightly twisting through his stomach was disappointment that Susie still wasn’t there and _not_ a small thrill of excitement at unexpectedly seeing Sarah.

“Hi,” he finally managed, wondering if his smile looked as awkwardly frozen as it felt.

It probably did, because Sarah’s smile faltered a little. “Expecting someone else?”

“Nah, I just… forgot you were on jury service,” Ben stammered, trying for casual but unable to stop the broad grin that slowly spread over his face. He just hoped that at least the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t quite as bright as it felt. 

“Well, I’ve just been dismissed, without even seeing the inside of a courtroom,” Sarah said wryly. She seemed sincerely disappointed.

“Oh,” Ben said, and much to his annoyance, the conversation was interrupted before he got any further.

“Detective Sergeant Jones to court number one, please.”

“Yes,” he said, acknowledging the summons with a wave and turning back to Sarah. She gave him a little wave and a smile, turning to leave. 

“Ah - come and see how the pros do it,” Ben blurted before she could go. “Come on,” he added with another grin when she hesitated. 

“Okay,” Sarah said, her smile widening, and Ben tried not to notice the way it lit up her eyes too as they turned and hurried towards the courtroom entrance.

 

* * *

 

Sarah watched the court proceedings with interest from the balcony. It was different, seeing Ben like this; his demeanour serious and professional as he answered the prosecution’s questions, rather than relaxed and casual the way he was when he came by at home.

He obviously knew what he was doing and looked comfortable despite all the eyes on him. Sarah laughed inwardly. She’d known more than a few teachers over the years who could learn a thing or two from him. Ben’s voice was calm and confident as he spoke, filling the large room without being loud or obnoxious and subtly evoking a feeling that you could _believe_ what he said. 

And never mind the fact that he just had an exceptionally nice voice to listen to, full stop.

“Thank you, DS Jones,” the lawyer was saying. “Remain standing.”

Sarah perked up, paying closer attention again. She’d heard stories from John about some of the defense lawyers they dealt with. Ben gave the prosecution a small nod of acknowledgement and his expression didn’t change, but Sarah thought she saw something in his posture shift slightly; almost as though he was bracing himself.

He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and Sarah gave him a little smile of encouragement. And then they all just… waited. Everyone’s eyes turned to the table where the defense was mucking about, completely ignoring the witness stand, until the judge finally cleared his throat with a sternly disapproving look. Sarah couldn’t see the lawyer’s expression from her vantage point, but the woman finally stood up, adjusting her robes.

“You mentioned to my learned friend that the defendant was known to you,” she said, and something about her tone immediately set Sarah’s teeth on edge. “Do you like him?”

“Not particularly,” Ben said mildly. 

“Why not?”

Ben’s shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. “He’s not my type,” he answered with a hint of a smirk. 

There were a few appreciative titters from the jury, and Sarah’s lips twitched as well. Leave it to Ben to be cheeky even in court. 

The defense, though, was powering ahead, undeterred. “But his girlfriend _is_ your type, is she not, Sergeant Jones?”

The lawyer’s voice had an odd quality to it; almost triumphant, and Sarah’s stomach dropped suddenly. Surely Ben wasn’t… he would have told them if he was seeing someone. Wouldn’t he?

“I don’t know his girlfriend,” Ben said, returning the barrister’s stare steadily.

There was silence as the defense lawyer turned around, one of her people passing her a sheaf of papers. 

“Susanna Bellingham of 37 Isabelle Gardens,” she finally read out, her voice clear and precise, and Ben’s expression went wooden. “A firefighter. You’re sleeping with her these days, aren’t you?” 

Ben didn’t answer, and Sarah saw his eyes track over towards the prosecution lawyer. He hadn’t reacted overtly, but Sarah knew him well enough by now to tell that his stress level had just jumped more than a few notches. 

“Quiet, please,” the judge said into the growing hum of shuffling noises and low voices that had filled the suddenly tense courtroom.

“Perhaps you need a moment, to reconsider your answer.” The barrister’s tone was smug and Ben still hadn’t said a word. The defense team must have gotten their dirt on him right. 

Sarah looked away, not entirely sure why she was so hurt that he hadn’t told her and John; trying to ignore the little twist of upset coiling in her stomach that Ben was even seeing someone at all. It wasn’t like she had any _reason_ to be upset. She should be happy for him. She _was_ happy for him.

“Yes, it’s true,” Ben finally said. “We’re seeing each other. But I don’t see why that’s relevant -”

The barrister talked right over him. “For the reason I just gave, DS Jones. You don’t _like_ my client. In fact, as I understand it, there is a fair degree of rivalry between you two -”

“If you’re trying to insinuate -” Ben started, and the lawyer’s voice grew louder as she tried to cut him off.

“I am _trying_ to get the truth -”

Ben didn’t let her, some of his confidence returning as he continued. “- that I planted drugs on the defendant so I could _steal_ his girlfriend…” he paused.

The lawyer had fallen silent. The whole room had fallen deathly silent, in fact, as the two just stared at each other for a moment.

“You need to watch less television,” Ben said, and the tension in the room suddenly dropped, most of the jury chuckling at the remark. 

“Quiet in court,” the judge said as the defense lawyer finally sat back down, her posture tight.

It seemed Ben had managed to recover well enough from the ambush - the rather _dirty_ ambush, Sarah thought - and she got up to leave, suddenly needing to get out of the room. 

By the time Ben left the courtroom, Sarah had made her way back down and was waiting in the main hallway, but he turned the other way, striding off down the hall.

“Ben!” she called, and he pulled up short, turning around, his expression dark. Sarah didn’t quite know what to say. He looked really rattled, far more than he had let show on the stand.

“I can’t _believe_ it,” Ben said, walking back to meet her. 

“Well, that’s what barristers get paid for,” Sarah said, sympathetic, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Ben’s expression didn’t change a whit. “It wasn’t the ambush.”

… _Oh._

“So you…” Ben looked away as Sarah tried to figure out the most diplomatic way to put it. “You hadn’t discussed prior relationships?” 

“Well -” Ben just trailed off with a huff, looking completely at a loss. 

Movement caught Sarah’s eye over Ben’s shoulder. A very lovely and very nervous-looking woman in a fire officer’s uniform had just walked in and come to a stop down the hallway behind Ben. Sarah gave her a small smile and a nod.

“It might be time for that chat,” she told Ben quietly, and he turned around to look.

The firefighter tried a smile, but it faltered when Ben didn’t smile back, meeting Sarah’s eyes once more before leaving without another word.

Sarah sighed to herself as the two headed outside together. That was not going to be a fun conversation.

 

* * *

 

John was still turning everything over in his mind as he watched Deirdre Denning sign out on bail, trying to figure out where the real Grady Felton could have been hiding this whole time.

“When you were kids, did you have any… secret hangouts?”

“We used the old powerhouse,” Deirdre said. “Grady _hated_ it. Wicked old Ross used to lock him up in there and leave him alone all night.”

“Why?” John asked as the desk sergeant handed over the rest of her belongings.

“Teach him a lesson,” Deirdre said offhandedly as she took her paperwork and turned to go. “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Something about that phrase tickled in John’s mind, and he started after Deirdre as she headed towards the exit.

“What?” he asked. Deirdre stopped and looked back at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“Grady,” she said. “Ross used to say it to him whenever he dished out punishment.”

_Punishment._

It all suddenly clicked, and John scrambled for his mobile. He knew _exactly_ where he’d heard that phrase recently. _Gareth._

Felton had been hiding in plain sight all along.

John’s mind was racing, his chest tight as he rang Jones, the real world growing almost dreamlike around him. He had to get to the Hall. Fast. He’d keep Deirdre with him; she’d be safest that way. All he could do was hope he hadn’t put it together too late to save everyone else. 

To save Jones.

“Come on Jones, pick up, for God’s sake,” John ground out at his mobile as he strode towards the exit, Deirdre following behind him. 

Nothing. It rang out and went to voicemail. 

John called it in instead. “It’s Barnaby. I need backup at Binwell Hall. Armed response.”

Barely noticing the rest of the walk to his car, John got in with Deirdre and headed out almost on autopilot. He had told Sarah that he couldn’t afford to make a mistake on this one and then he had made one _anyway._

He tried ringing Jones a couple more times as they tore down the dark highway; still no answer. Their conversation at the hospital after the impostor-Felton’s death, after Jones’ near-miss in the parking lot, kept replaying in his mind over and over as he drove.

_He turned and went back towards Jones, who had stopped in the hallway. “Or you could do the sensible thing and go home while I organize some protection.”_

_But Jones was looking away and shaking his head before John even finished speaking. “No. Thanks.”_

_“You’re a_ target, _Ben. The killer’s already had one go.”_

_“I’ll be more careful next time,” Jones said, then turned and walked away without another word._

The stubborn _arse_ had refused to listen to reason, and John - John had just let him go.

Why hadn’t he _stopped_ him, insisted? Why hadn’t he done _more?_ If Ben didn’t make it… 

If Ben didn’t make it, John would never be able to forgive himself.

Once they were almost there, John called up the Denning’s home number and learned from Mandy Gideon that Jones had arrived, but had gone out to look for Ted Denning at the powerhouse some ten minutes ago. 

Neither of them had come back and neither of them were answering their mobiles, and John’s chest tightened further with worry and fear.

A scant few minutes later, John finally pulled up at the powerhouse. There was a faint red light glowing in one of the windows, but otherwise no sign of life.

“Stay in the car, okay?” John said to Deirdre. The last thing he needed now was another civilian in danger. 

The armed response team arrived just as he was getting out of the car, lights flashing but sirens off. John crossed the courtyard, wary; silently gesturing for his backup to stand down for the moment as he headed for the powerhouse door.

He could hear a voice from inside as he got closer, and he peered cautiously in through the outer doorway. 

“ … dodgy electrics killed ‘em, they’ll say,” John heard; and then the speaker’s accent changed and he recognized Gareth’s voice, getting louder. “And that’s the _beauty_ of it!”

John still couldn’t see anything, but he heard a second voice; weak, muffled. Too quiet for him to make out the words, and Felton’s voice had grown soft as well.

As he waited, tense, a sudden pained yell came from inside, and John had to wave down the response team again. If they went bursting in there now, guns drawn… he didn’t want to think how this would end.

Felton’s voice suddenly rang out again from inside. “Do you _get_ it? Have you _got it_ yet, Jones?”

John’s knees nearly buckled with relief. Felton was talking to him. He was still alive in there.

Slipping into the room, John quickly took in the dimly lit scene. Ben and Ted Denning were tied up to some of the machinery. The air reeked of fuel. Felton was bent over and face-to-face with Ben, yanking his head back, but looked up as John came in. 

“Right,” Felton said, letting go of Ben’s hair roughly and crossing the room again to flick the power back on. 

John edged further in, briefly looking over the two men on the floor. Ben in particular looked in a bad way, but he was moving, and that would have to be enough for now.

“Stop there!” Felton warned him, holding up a massive, cut, and now-live electrical cable. John stopped. “Or we all go up.”

There was a pause; then John risked moving a little further into the room, careful not to actually close the distance between himself and Felton.

“Or did you just come for another training session?” Felton asked, gesturing with the power cables and grinning madly. John didn’t answer, holding Felton’s gaze in silence until the man spoke again, quieter this time. “Did you bring the beautiful wife?”

John’s jaw twitched, but he managed to keep himself in check. “So how long have you been at the gym?”

“Eighteen months,” Felton answered, still waving the electrical cables around. “Had a few things to do first. Lose weight and the tats, y’know… get fit. A bit of surgery on the scar.”

“Who’s Gareth Dunbar?”

Felton laughed almost soundlessly. “That’s a clean skin I bought. You meet a lot of useful people in prison, John.”

“No remorse? No pangs of conscience?” John tried.

“You should ask _him_ that question,” Felton said, the false jovial attitude disappearing in the blink of an eye as he gestured towards Ted Denning with one hand. “You see, there’s the man who _murdered_ his own son, and _you_ lot - you fitted me up for it.” 

“He’s lying. He killed my son!” Ted shouted.

“No, Daniel and me, we were all right!” Felton yelled back at him, and Ted lapsed back into silence. Ben had barely reacted to the entire exchange, his eyes barely open and his face screwed up in pain. “You see… we understood each other.”

“What can you _possibly_ understand about _my son_?” Ted retorted.

“Cause I knew what it was like to feel the _belt_ across my back,” Felton shot back, intense gaze fixed on the older man. “Just like Dan. Eh, Ted?”

As Felton kept ranting and John kept racking his brain for a way to get them all out of this in one piece, he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching, and Deirdre Denning burst into the room behind him.

“Get _out of here,_ Miss Denning,” John snapped, but she didn’t listen to him.

Her eyes fixed on Felton, she moved slowly towards him. “Are you going to kill me too, Grady?”

“Do what he said,” Felton warned, suddenly rooted to the spot. Deirdre shook her head. “Get out.”

“No,” she answered, moving closer to Felton.

“Look, _he_ is the one that I want, you know - _he_ murdered your _brother_!”

“No, he didn’t,” John cut in.

“Oh, sure he didn’t,” Felton started, but John kept going.

“Fred Burns remembers that night very well,” he said. “He was keen to spend the evening with Deirdre… But she only had eyes for you. Fred says that Daniel was happy to chase the girls, but wasn’t so keen on his little sister having fun.”

“What are you talking about?” Felton said.

John shifted his gaze to Deirdre and kept talking. “So I was wondering if you went to find Grady at the cottage that night.”

“What are you saying?” Ted asked from the floor.

“He’s telling the truth,” Deirdre said, her voice nearly a whisper. There was a long silence as she slowly turned to look at her father.

Horrified comprehension dawned on his face, even as John watched. “He was your _brother._ ” Ted’s voice was shaky.

Deirdre was almost in tears. “It was an accident. I am so sorry, Grady,” she said, turning back to him, sobbing.

“Stop it, Deirdre,” Ted snapped. Felton looked like he was about to be sick.

“You stole my life,” he finally said quietly, shaking his head at Deirdre in disbelief.

“You’ve suffered a terrible injustice,” John said, trying to de-escalate things, but neither Felton nor Deirdre so much as glanced in his direction.

“I was just so scared,” Deirdre said.

John pressed on, watching Felton closely. “But the killing has to stop.”

Deirdre didn’t seem to have even heard him. “I just thought they’d let you go after awhile -”

“You stole - my - _life,_ ” Felton said again, louder, and Deirdre kept talking over him, whimpering.

“I just thought… it would all just…”

Felton fell silent as she spoke, nearly in tears himself now.

“I poisoned all our lives,” Deirdre finally said, stepping forward and reaching towards Felton. She took hold of his hands, still gripping the cables tightly.

A long, tense moment; nobody seemed to be even daring to breathe; and then - Felton almost seemed to crumple in place, letting go of both electrical cables and Deirdre pulled them back with a sobbing gasp.

“Can I get some help in here!” John shouted, rushing to shut the power back down, and the rest was something of a blur. His backup stormed in, taking away Grady Felton and Deirdre Denning both, and then it was suddenly quiet again except for Ted Denning’s quiet sobs.

Shaking from the adrenaline rush, John took a deep breath; then went to see to Ted and Ben.

He untied Ted quickly to be led away and cared for; then turned his attention to his sergeant, freeing his wrists and checking him over carefully. Ben had a nasty-looking head wound, but the bleeding had stopped on its own and his pupils seemed normal.

“Come on, Ben. Let’s get you out of here,” John said gently, helping him to his feet, Ben leaning on him as they made their way to the door. By the time they got to the car Ben seemed to be coming around again, and John called a paramedic over to check him out properly. 

Ben was pronounced concussed but not in any danger, and John breathed a long, shaky sigh of relief as he went back to oversee the rest of the operation. 

Ben was okay. He hadn’t lost him.

 

* * *

 

Crawling into bed with a groan, Ben dropped the cold compress onto his bedside table. His head still hurt, but not as badly as before. The painkillers must have finally been kicking in.

Ben tried to relax, but his exhausted mind kept running through the events of the evening. Running into “Gareth” outside the powerhouse. Regaining consciousness tied up next to Ted Denning. Gareth - Felton - yelling about how he hadn’t killed Dan. 

And then - John’s voice in among all the others, sending a wave of relief through Ben the moment he heard it. John untying him, hands gentle on his aching head, bringing him out to the car. John insisting Ben get checked out before he would go back to supervising the arrests and the mop-up, concern clear on his face as he hovered. 

Susie had stopped by to talk to him before everyone cleared out, and Ben knew he should probably be more upset that their relationship was almost certainly over at this point. But as he slowly drifted off, the only thing Ben found himself regretting was not taking John up on his offer to stay the night in his and Sarah’s spare room.

Despite all the shit he’d just been through, it had been… nice, hearing John call him Ben; and Ben’s last thought before sleep claimed him was to wonder just when it was he’d started thinking of him as _John._

 


	3. Written in the Stars (S15:E03)

Smirking, John looked up from reading through Jones’ ‘Star Chart’ from Mystic Mags as the sergeant himself walked by, presumably heading for the exit. Jones had changed since they’d seen Gagan safely reunited with her father, and was now wearing blue jeans, a close-fitting white V-neck, and an open black blazer. 

“You going out on an undercover job?” John called.

Jones pulled up short and turned around, walking back towards John and stopping in the entry to their little office. He had combed his hair differently, too, and it was… well, all put together, it was a _very_ good look on him. “No, it’s Kate’s birthday, sir.”

“Ahh,” John said. Of course, that was tonight. He’d forgotten it was Saturday already.

“She said come dressed to kill,” Jones said, suddenly sounding a bit nervous. He glanced down at himself and briefly spread his arms wide. “What d’you think?”

John’s brain froze up for a split second. It really wasn’t fair of Jones to just _invite_ John to check him out like that, given how hard he’d been having to work lately at _not_ checking his sergeant out at all. 

_Get a grip, John._

“I’m… sure you’ll knock ‘em dead,” he answered with what he hoped was a casual smile, dragging his gaze back up to Jones’ face. Not that that helped overly much. Looking at the page still in his hand, John immediately changed the subject before he could risk saying anything inappropriate about just how bloody good his sergeant really did look in that outfit; or, well, in any outfit, for that matter. “You left this in the car. So, you had Mags do your chart?”

Jones just stared at him for a second. “No- no, it’s a wind-up, it’s rubbish. She got my details off my Gran.”

“Ohh. I thought it was interesting- she predicts a, uh, ‘close encounter’ for you this weekend.”

“Yeah, I’ll probably crash the car,” Jones said, looking entirely unimpressed, and John chuckled. “So you’re not up for this, then?” the sergeant added.

Up for… ? Oh, right. The party. 

“Um, no,” John replied, putting down the folder and getting to his feet. A bunch of young men and women drinking way too much and making eyes at each other — possibly including Kate and Jones, given the low-key flirting the two had been doing on and off for ages — was really not John’s idea of a fun night; not anymore. He’d been to plenty of these types of events before as one of the young people in question, but he was long past the age where it held any particular appeal for him. And tonight he would probably just fall asleep after one drink anyway. “Sarah and I thought we’d have a quiet night in. Just the two of us and a, uh… scented candle.”

As he spoke, John’s gaze flickered briefly down before he could stop it; down to the line where Jones’ chest disappeared under his shirt, and then up to the lips that were curved into a tiny smile. The neckline of Jones’ shirt wasn’t particularly low; but it still showed a lot more than the collared shirts he wore for work, giving John an almost painfully tantalizing glimpse of lightly-tan skin and the smooth hollow of Ben’s throat.

He must have been particularly tired tonight, because the image jumped unbidden and fully-formed into his mind of running his tongue over that little expanse of bare skin and then burying his face into the gentle curve of Ben’s neck. He also realized too late that he’d stepped just a little closer to his sergeant than was strictly necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he knew he should. 

And for just a moment, John could have sworn he saw a flash of interest in those hazel eyes as a knowing grin spread over Ben’s face; and then Ben nodded, glancing down with a hint of a blush staining his cheeks.

“Well,” Ben — no, _Jones_ — said, nodding, and his voice— his voice was suddenly low and husky for some reason; and dear god, John knew what he wished that reason was. “Have a good one.”

“You too, Jones,” John answered, handing over the papers. “Whatever fate awaits you.”

He headed out for the night without looking back, trying not to think about what he wouldn’t give to hear that deep, sultry voice again; only this time, _growling_ into his ear. 

Or into Sarah’s.

 

* * *

 

Ben stood there for a moment after Barnaby left, staring at the bit of paper from Mystic Mags. 

He had just assumed Barnaby would be coming to Kate’s party, too; had in fact been looking forward to sharing a little downtime with the man who had become — Ben hoped, anyway — a friend as well as his boss. 

It was probably for the best, anyway. Ben had been catching his mind wandering lately, wandering more and more to those tantalizing thoughts about John and Sarah  _ both  _ that he really,  _ really  _ should not be having. It had only gotten worse since his relationship with Susie had just sort of… fizzled out during the whole mess with Grady Felton six months ago, and it really didn’t help that he hadn’t gotten laid even once since then. 

_It’s time to stop mooning about and move on,_ Ben told himself firmly, nearly managing to convince himself that he was referring to the relationship with Susie and not the entirely inappropriate and obviously pointless fantasies he kept having about his own damn _boss._ And his boss’s _wife._

Crumpling up the page, Ben chucked it in the rubbish and left. What was that saying, again? He’d make his own fate.

That stuff was all a load of bollocks, anyway.

He headed out with a bit of a spring in his step, eager to join the party and see if Kate really was interested. If he was lucky, this long-running maybe-flirty banter thing they had going on might actually _go_ somewhere. 

And if part of him was still wondering just _why_ John had mentioned his and Sarah’s plans for tonight; if part of him wished he was off to join their more _private_ party this evening instead, well… Ben just wouldn’t think too hard about that. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a sort of post-episode sequel to this one, if I can ever get it to work right!   
> Also, just for context, I see When Everything Falls into Place starting maybe a couple weeks after this episode, give or take.


	4. Post Written in the Stars (S15:E03)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The follow-up to the previous chapter! Set after the episode ends.

“ … and they had better not let it screw up their working relationship if anything _does_ happen—”

“You’re _jealous!_ ” Sarah exclaimed with a grin, cutting John off mid-rant about Ben and Kate and what might possibly be going on at Kate’s party at that very moment.

“What? No, of course not, I—” Sarah arched an eyebrow at her husband, her smirk widening, and John sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Yes, actually. I _am_ jealous. Even though I have no reason to be.”

“Well, you’re not the only one who gets a little jealous when it comes to Ben, darling,” Sarah said, and John rolled onto his side to face her, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, really?”

“Mmhm,” Sarah hummed, slipping a hand over his hip under the covers to tug him closer. “Who knows, maybe he would be interested in… _joining_ us some day.”

John sighed again, but there was a much more wistful note to it this time. “Somehow I don’t think Jones is quite that… adventurous, unfortunately.”

“Well that _is_ a pity… but what if he was?”

John’s breath hitched a little as Sarah moved her hand between his legs instead. “I can’t- I’m really not supposed to think about my _subordinate_ that way, you know. I’m not some dirty old man.”

“Yes you are,” Sarah teased, giving him a light kiss to take any sting out of her words. John’s chuckle trailed off into a groan as she squeezed his growing erection through his loose pants. 

“Tell me what you’d do with him, if Ben was here right now,” Sarah murmured, moving her hand to John’s hip again and pressing herself up against him instead, heat building quickly between her legs. “Would you like me to fuck him while you watch? I know I’d love to… mmm…” She trailed off as John’s mouth met hers in a long, deep kiss that left them both slightly breathless when it ended. 

“ _You_ are going to be the death of me,” John finally said, and Sarah grinned. 

“Well?” she asked, pushing him over onto his back and climbing on top of him, straddling his hips. 

“Well, what?” John managed, sliding his hands up her thighs.

Sarah leaned down over top of him. “If Ben was here, right now, would you taste him? Suck his cock and then watch me fuck him, just like this?” she breathed into John’s ear, circling her hips, grinding down against him. 

John groaned, his mouth finding Sarah’s neck as he thrust up between her legs, grinding against her in return. “ _God,_ yes.” 

 

* * *

 

Kate sighed. Everyone else had already left, and it was tempting; it was _very_ tempting to say yes and bring Ben upstairs to her bedroom for the night, but… 

“I’m sorry, Ben. I like you, I really do. And you’re _very_ cute.” Ben blushed at that, opening his mouth, but Kate cut him off. “But you’re obviously hung up on someone lately. And I don’t know who, but I do know that it’s not me.” 

“What?” Ben asked, blinking. 

Kate just stared at him for a second and then laughed, a little surprised. _Talk about dodging a bullet…_ “Oh honey, you didn’t even realize? Whoever it is, you’ve got it bad.” 

Ben looked positively stricken. “What… no, that’s not… I don’t—” 

“You’re a good friend, Ben,” Kate said sympathetically. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” 

“Thanks,” Ben said after a moment, sounding a little strangled. “I, uh… it’s pretty late, I better get a cab home.” 

“Well, I’m really glad you came,” Kate said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and what she hoped was an encouraging sort of smile. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.” 

 


End file.
